


Worth The Wait

by sakkakitty



Series: Ye Ol' Bump N Grind (Winterhawk Edition) [1]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bottom Clint Barton, Explicit Consent, M/M, PWP, Rough Sex, Smut, Tender Sex, Top Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 16:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20213050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakkakitty/pseuds/sakkakitty
Summary: Clint liked what they had; it was comfortable, familiar, easy. They hadn’t made it passed kissing, but Clint didn’t mind. Not that he didn’t enjoy sex, but he had gone into this relationship knowing what kinds of things Bucky had been through. He wouldn’t judge if that just wasn’t something Bucky wanted or needed, and since there was no indication of desire in that way even when they were getting handsy told Clint all he needed to know.Or so he thought.





	Worth The Wait

**Author's Note:**

> This is just all smut. First time actually posting smut anywhere so I'm pretty embarrassed. But! Here it is!

Clint liked to think he knew Bucky pretty well by now. Having been friends for a while, and more than that for three months, he was pretty familiar with his tells, no matter how small. The twitch of his right eyebrow up usually indicated exasperation. The tightening of his lips meant anger. The narrowing of his eyes just a touch usually a sign of content or annoyance, depending on the situation. 

When he was flexing his fingers, he was anxious. When he was calm, he usually allowed his shoulders to relax, his spine curving as much as he would let it after good posture being drilled into him not only from his time with Hydra, but before that even, while in the military. Clint was secretly pleased that that was something he could inspire in Bucky often. Almost as often as Steve, and Clint knew that was saying something. 

Bucky’s relationship with touch was unique as well. He had his good days, where he allowed Clint to brush a peck across his cheek in the morning or wrap his arms around his waist while they watched Lucky frolic in the free space on the roof. And of course, he has his bad days, where he demanded at least a five foot radius. Those days Bucky usually went to sleep on his own floor, and in the middle of the night he would come and burrow into Clint’s bed, although usually still keeping his distance.

Clint could understand that. He had those days too, just not as often. And there was no need to explain; they already knew. 

But on rare occasions, Bucky would seek out his touch instead of just allowing it, practically swamping him with his body, clinging to him in the privacy of their shared room. Bucky was cat like in many ways, but the way he slunk over to curl up with Clint and leave as abruptly as he came was something that never failed to amuse Clint. 

Clint liked what they had; it was comfortable, familiar, easy. They hadn’t made it passed kissing, but Clint didn’t mind. Not that he didn’t enjoy sex, but he had gone into this relationship knowing what kinds of things Bucky had been through. He wouldn’t judge if that just wasn’t something Bucky wanted or needed, and since there was no indication of desire in that way even when they were getting handsy told Clint all he needed to know.

Or so he thought. 

The other fantastic thing about reading Bucky was knowing how to play him like a fiddle. And in this particular moment, Bucky’s whole body was practically singing with a silent melody, the muscles in his neck straining as Clint nipped his pulse point, teasing and sweet as he placed a line of kisses down to the collar of his shirt. 

He slid his hands underneath the offending article, sighing at the feeling of Bucky’s warm skin littered with scars and taunt with toned muscles. Clint hadn’t really thought of himself of a muscles guy until he was staring at Bucky’s abs shining with sweat while he did an ungodly amount of pushups. So he couldn’t help but press one hand to the flat of his stomach, feeling the way Bucky’s body responded to his touch so sweetly. 

Clint had thought he had Bucky right where he wanted him; pliant, willing, but to his surprise, he found himself suddenly being flipped, his back hitting the couch with a soft sound. He blinked in surprise at Bucky who was staring down at him, eyes dark with something hungry. It made Clint shiver, and the corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched up at that.

His hair was framing his face, and the way he blocked out the light cast a shadow of part of his face. Clint couldn’t help but reach up and push his hair back in an oddly tender display of affection. Bucky seemed a little startled at that, before something in him seemed to snap, and he grabbed Clint’s hands, pressing them into the couch on either side of his head before leaning down and pressing their lips together.

It was hot, and Bucky’s lips were needy, but practiced. It was a far cry from the first time they had properly made out, which had too much spit and their teeth kept clacking together in their desperation. But despite that it was still perfect in its own way. Although Clint had to admit, feeling Bucky seamlessly slide his tongue along his bottom lip and into his mouth had him practically melting under his hands.

There was no use denying how hard he was, and he couldn’t help the way his hips involuntarily bucked up. A jolt of arousal shot through him as he brushed against a matching hardness between Bucky’s thighs, the barely there touch causing Bucky to pull back sharply.

There was an apology already forming on Clint’s lips, but Bucky seemed to read that in his eyes, and simply held a finger to Clint’s mouth, before trailing his metal hand down his torso. Clint’s heart rate picked up, and he keened as Bucky gripped him through his sweatpants, tossing his head back and dislodging Bucky’s other hand from his mouth.

Even though he thought he was losing his mind as Bucky experimentally flexed his fingers, Clint couldn’t stop himself from reaching up and putting his hands on either side of Bucky’s face. Bucky froze at that, looking at him meaningfully, and Clint offered him a strained if patient smile. 

“We don’t have to do this Buck,” he said, unable to hide how hoarse his voice was. Bucky narrowed his eyes, but Clint held them there, meeting his expression, until finally Bucky tilted his head to the side. 

“Do you want to stop?” Bucky asked, his own voice was scratchy, and it made Clint’s stomach flare with heat at the thought that he had caused that. Clint moved his hands from his neck, letting his thumbs glide softly along Bucky’s jaw.

“No. But we can if we need to,” he said, his voice steady despite the fact that he was still twitching in Bucky’s grasp. Bucky’s expression was unreadable for several long beats, but then he was moving his metal fingers towards the waistband of his sweats and pulling them down with one hard tug. Clint gasped, his fingernails digging into Bucky’s neck, but he seemed unbothered as his hand explored the groves of Clint’s hips, his fingers delicately tracing the lines of his groin in a way that was far too tender for a hand that had strangled the life out of so many people.

But Clint trusted him, explicitly, and so he didn’t flinch away from the coolness of the metal as it explored underneath his balls, pressing lightly against his perineum in a way that had his hips flying off the couch. He tried to choke back his cry, but it seemed like a lost cause as Bucky seemed intent on making him beg. Which he refused to do. For now. 

“Take your shirt off,” Clint demanded, tugging at Bucky’s collar with urgency that Bucky didn’t ignore, even though he was slow to remove his hand from between Clint’s legs. He removed his shirt with the same efficiency with which he lowered Clint’s pants, and immediately, Clint’s hands were on him, his eyes drinking in the sight. 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed with pleasure, and he sucked in a huff of air as Clint thumbed over his nipples, before carefully tracing the scarring where Bucky’s shoulder met with metal. Bucky watched him through hooded eyes, offering trust in a way Clint knew he couldn’t fathom as he smoothed his hand over the scar tissue, before down his chest again.

“Take me to bed,” Clint said breathlessly, and Bucky was already moving before Clint was finished talking, picking him up bridal style with no problem. Clint would aggressively disagree with the treatment, but it gave him such a perfect angle to suck bruises into Bucky’s neck, his mouth undeterred by the sting of the beard against his skin. 

“Clint,” Bucky growled in warning, clearly distracted as he fumbled for the bedroom door, but all Clint did was grin into his skin and sigh into his ear. “Hurry up then,” Clint said teasingly, and then Bucky was opening the door with a quickness usually reserved for the field. He let out a yelp as Bucky tossed him on the bed none too gently, and as he opened his mouth to complain, Bucky grabbed the legs of his pants and pulled them rest of the way off, leaving him with just his shirt.

Clint suddenly had the overwhelming desire to cover himself under Bucky’s piercing gaze, but he didn’t, instead leaning up on his elbows and watching him back. However, they both were still far too overdressed for his tastes, so he smirked at Bucky and reached for his the hem of his shirt. “Take your pants off and get that gorgeous ass into this bed, Barnes,” he said as he flung his shirt off and on the floor.

“You’re bossy today,” Bucky growled out, but Clint could see a ghost of a smirk on his face as he reached for the button of his pants. Clint watched with rapt attention, unconsciously licking his bottom lick as he let his hand drift between his legs. He didn’t do much besides hold himself, but just the pressure alone matched with Bucky pushing his pants off felt blissful. 

And then Bucky was pouncing, knocking his hand away and swiftly kissing him again, his hands skating down his sides. Clint giggled a little in his mouth and writhed away from the touch, before he gasped and arched towards it as Bucky grabbed his hips and brought them up to meet his. The brush of their lengths together was too dry, but the feel of Bucky still had Clint groaning, his hands fluttering to grip Bucky’s shoulders. 

“Lube in the top drawer,” he managed, and Bucky immediately leaned over, giving Clint access to a nipple which he bit teasingly. Bucky’s free hand pinched his hip in retaliation, and Clint laughed, settling back and getting comfortable as Bucky finally came back, bottle in hand. Clint watched as he considered the bottle, before looking back at him.

“I wanna be inside you, if you’d let me,” Bucky said, and Clint let out a laugh and a moan at the same time, putting his hand over his face. 

“God, why are you being so formal. Just ask if you can fuck me, Jesus,” Clint said, more teasing than an actual demand, but Bucky didn’t take it that way. He instead leaned over and and pressed his mouth against Clint’s ear, his breath making him shudder as he murmured, “Can I fuck you, Clint?”

“Ooh, god, yes, fucking hell,” Clint said breathlessly, glaring as Bucky sat back with a satisfied grin. Any annoyance Clint was feeling was wiped away as he heard the snick of the cap opening, and then there was a cool metal finger sliding behind his balls and circling his entrance. His breath hitched and he found himself arching his hips, allowing Bucky better access. Bucky hummed, but still continued to gently stroke over his hole, driving Clint mad with every pass.

“Just stick it in,” Clint demanded through gritted teeth, but Bucky seemed unbothered, coaxing him to relax into his touches, so that when he slipped his first finger in the burn was completely unnoticeable. It made Clint gasp, and he sighed, relaxing back down as Bucky pressed his other hand to his hips, forcing him to be still. 

And then he moved, slowly, gently, stroking the insides of his walls, painfully slowly. Clint found that in a way, it was soothing. It was clear Bucky was trying not to hurt him, but Clint had a feeling he was also getting a kick at making Clint squirm with only one finger. 

Clint was about to bite at him to hurry up, when Bucky introduced another finger. He was still so relaxed that he practically sucked Bucky into himself, before groaning as Bucky’s fingers scissored open inside of him. The metal was unyielding, and finally there was that hint of burn, that delightful feeling of his muscles stretching to accommodate Bucky. It was wonderful, and he whimpered at the feeling, aroused beyond measure. 

He wanted Bucky in him yesterday, but the other simply continued to stretch him, slow and steady, and Clint made an impatient sound, pushing his hips down in an aborted movement. Bucky chuckled, and Clint glared, but was rewarded with another finger pressing in. It wasn’t what he wanted, but as Bucky suddenly pressed his fingers in as far as he could and crooked them up to firmly drag against his prostate as he pulled them out, he found that maybe this wasn’t so bad.

But Bucky didn’t increase his pace, just constantly and patiently dragged his fingers against the sensitive gland, sending shock waves of intense pleasure to his toes. Bucky’s fingers were so percises, careful, and he could help but cry out as Bucky took a moment to simply press his middle finger down against his prostate as his thumb stroked his perineum. The pressure both inside and out had him practically screaming, shaking his head and squeezing around Bucky’s fingers desperately.

“Please, please please, just get in me, oh my god,” Clint wheezed, and finally Bucky relented, his eyes boring into Clint’s as he removed his fingers, leaving Clint to clench around nothing while Bucky quickly prepared himself. 

Bucky pulled his hips into his lap and settled the blunt tip of him against his hole. He allowed himself to teasingly slide along it, before Clint dug his ankles fiercely into his back, and Bucky finally rolled onto his knees, pressing insistently forward until he was finally sliding into Clint.

Clint gasped and threw his head back, his body arching as Bucky didn’t pause, filling him up until their hips were flush together. Bucky had his lower body arched off the bed, his hands steady on his hips, before he pressed down, folding Clint in half, still buried deep inside.

For Clint, the position was nothing but bliss; he was way more flexible than this, but the way Bucky had moved him had him positioned directly against his prostate, and he had a feeling he wasn’t going to last long. Especially because Bucky quickly proved that the prep was nothing like the main event by pulling out nearly all the way and plunging back in with a grunt. 

The movement was harsh, and Clint shouted his hands flying out to touch the wall to avoid hitting it with his head. And then Bucky seemed to lose all control of himself, falling forward and rutting into Clint, one hand braced on the bed and one on the wall. 

His eyes never left Clint’s as he fucked into him, but Clint couldn’t promise the same, his eyes rolling back at the brutal assault on his prostate. It felt like too much, but in the most perfect way, like he was hanging on the edge of a cliff he just couldn’t quiet get over; it was the perfect torture. 

“Oh fuck, oh christ, Bucky, please,” he gasped out, his thighs trembling where they were positioned over his chest, and then his whole world was shifting as Bucky pulled out and flipped him around. Clint made a confused noise, lost in lust and adrenaline, so when Bucky yanked him onto his knees and pressed in abruptly, Clint keened and dropped to his elbows. But Bucky didn’t stop there, placing a hand in between his shoulders and forcing him down so that his face was in the pillows and his ass was in the air. It was a demeaning position, but as Bucky pounded into him, one hand on his hip, he found he didn’t care. 

The pace Bucky set was punishing, and Clint lost track of time, simply taking Bucky over and over again, unable to think of anything other than the feeling of the sheets against his face and the way he was being split open by a super soldier. 

He trembled as Bucky’s thrusts got longer and deeper and harder all at once, and he felt himself cry out as Bucky began to withdraw completely to slam back in. The way his rim puckered and flexed as Bucky pulled free on every draw back felt heavenly, and Clint couldn’t stop his blabbering now, his hands clawing at the sheets.

“Bucky Bucky Bucky, Buck,” Clint chanted as he felt Bucky lean over his back and pant into his ear. Clint knew he was getting close by the way he had started to simply grind into him in harsh fast circles, putting constant pressure on his prostate as he did so. Clint used the last of what little brain power he had left to squeeze around him, impossibly tight, and then Bucky was coming, twitching over him as he slammed in a few more times, reaching for Clint’s dick as he did so.

Just barely a brush from his fingers and he was coming, his vision flashing in front of his eyes as he practically screamed, coating Bucky’s hand even as the other stroked him through his orgasm and further, until it was painful. 

“Enough enough enough,” he panted, swatting his hand away, and Bucky went willingly, even as he stayed inside Clint for a couple seconds longer. When he pulled out, it was slowly, and Clint just knew he was watching himself as he did so. It made him flush horribly, and he buried his face in the pillow, embarrassed as Bucky spread his cheeks to look at his handy work.

“You’re a kinky fuck,” Clint grumbled into the pillows as Bucky stuck his thumb back into him and tugged on his sensative rim. His hips twitched at the stimulation, and finally Bucky moved his hands away, maneuvering Clint over onto his back. Clint stared up at him, admiring the hazy pleasure in Bucky’s eyes as he did so. 

“Good?” he asked cheekily, and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“I wasn’t the one screaming bloody murder,” he responded back gruffly, and Clint felt his face heat.

“Oh shut up,” he grumbled, but still accepted the sweet kisses Bucky peppered onto his face and neck. It went a long way in buttering him up, and by the time Bucky had stopped, Clint was drowsy. He was half asleep as Bucky went to clean him up, but he wasn’t so asleep that he didn’t feel the brush of a kiss against his forehead before Bucky climbed in behind him and wrapped an arm around his waist.

That had been well worth the wait. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> If you liked it and would like me to perhaps write more, let me know! I'm always open to ideas or prompts!


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